


Re-Birth

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 05:11:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14969801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Major Lionel Kingston.  If he'd not been an out and out enemy, he'd certainly not been a friend.  The war was over, but if anything the animosity on both sides was even stronger.  An unlikely turn of events put them at odds with each other once again, and the outcome leads to unexpected changes at The Cottages.  Eventually the day would come when Lionel Kingston would reach out to make them pay for misleading him all those times, for interferring in his business.  He'd struck out so many times before; would he again?  Or would he finally make them pay?





	1. Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Major, no Colonel Lionel Kingston hadn't been expecting much from this car tour of England. It was hardly his idea of a vacation, but he'd given in to the urgings of his much younger wife and was now pompously giving her his version of things, including a run-down on the Stately Homes program. More specifically, on the Mansion at Brandonshire, a clue-less young American Lieutenant and the hoodlums he had so foolishly been put in charge of. As they head to the pub he'd remembered being in Brandonshire for a bite of lunch, surprises await, welcome or unwelcome depending on which person you asked about it later.

They were driving through the English countryside, and Lieutenant Colonel Lionel Kingston, U. S. Army, admitted that while this wasn't really his idea of a vacation, it was certainly different seeing it now, without all the military vehicles on the road and without having to watch for bombers. London to Brighton to Portsmouth, a side trip to the Isles of Scilly, Stonehenge, Bath, Bristol, Oxford, Cambridge, then a trip to somewhere called The Fens, then on to Scotland; that's what his wife had planned out, some foolishness she'd gotten from those books she was always reading, and that's what they were doing.

He'd thought this indulgence might ease that distance he'd sensed between them, and he was a reasonable man; he was willing to make an effort, and they had some time before he reported to his new command in Germany. Then, maybe she'd settle down and be sensible again and stop talking nonsense. She was an officer's wife and her parents had assured him that although she was much younger than he was, just twenty-two, that she understood what that meant, her being the daughter of a military man herself, but sometimes he wondered if they weren't all misjudging her, thinking her more mature, more sensible than she really was. Really, some of the notions she came up with! Well, a little more guidance, some firmness on his part, he was sure he could mold her into the kind of wife he needed in his career.

He brought his mind back to the road. They'd started in London, and headed south, passing the military base where so many American troops had been stationed during the War. Now, quite a bit further down the road, he'd been explaining the Stately Homes program, much to her amazement. His wife was looking out the side window at the huge mansion, probably most impressive when it was in better repair.

"Lionel, can we take a closer look? I still cannot believe all of those magnificent houses being used for such purposes; I cannot believe it would have been possible back home!"

"Not under normal circumstances, I'd agree. But here, well, remember, they were first in the war, well before us, and there just isn't as much room as back home, and the government here has more authority, too; they could requisition what they wanted and many of the owners were happy to get something out of the places; they'd moved to safer places, many of them. I think there'd be a mass uprising back home if our government tried anything like that."

"And some of the uses made sense; hospitals, orphanages, schools, things like that. But some, well, I still say it was crazy. They had Italian prisoners of war in at least one of the houses, that I know! And the Special Forces teams? An undisciplined bunch, even the best of them. And the team they had here, at the Ballantine Mansion, they sure as hell couldn't be called that!"

He caught a glimpse of his wife's slight frown, probably at his language, but really, he'd tempered it as best he could, he thought.

"What was so special about that team?"

"A bunch of convicts, if you can believe it, from some of the major prisons in the States! All four under the command of an Army Lieutenant, Craig Garrison. Never could understand that; he was a West Point man, served in North Africa, never would have expected it from him, you know. Someone's bright idea! Should have known from the start it was stupid, only asking for trouble putting a young officer with that bunch! Shame, he could have gone far, you know."

She frowned over at him, "was he killed, Lionel?" asking in some gentle concern.

"No, he made it through the war alive; they all did, and I'll admit they got the job done a lot of the time, but probably feathered their own nests plenty while they were at it. But always up to trouble; couldn't have expected anything else, of course, but another officer, someone harder, more experienced, maybe could have kept them in line."

"Him, he actually started taking their side in things, let things get way out of proportion, starting to go up against the Brass about 'how they were treated'. Had more than my share of run-in's with them, and believe me, they didn't run circles around ME like they did some of the others! The officer who handled their team, at least some of the time, was British, Major Richards. Never figured out how, but, though he started off sensibly enough, they even had him snowed by the time it was all over!"

"Even had a couple of Generals taking their sides! Of course, one of those turned out to be Garrison's godfather or something, so I guess that accounts for it, plus supposedly one of those men was the general's by-blow, though I don't know that I believe that; I mean, a half-breed Indian, it doesn't seem too likely, does it."

He took a long draw on his cigarette. "Both Garrison and Richards left the military after the war; I figure it was their involvement with that team; 'Garrison's Gorillas' they ended up being called. Garrison was decommissioned, given a General Discharge when the order came through to ship them all back to the prisons they'd come from, though somehow that was reversed and he was allowed to resign at his previous rank with an Honorable; Richards resigned one step before something like that, the decommissioning I mean, happened to him as well. All the Brass knew both Garrison and Richards had gone too far over the line, weren't really what they should be anymore, couldn't be trusted. No way they'd have gone any further up the ladder, certainly," looking down at his new insignia with pleasure.

"Guerillas? Because of the work they did?"

"No, Helen, 'Gorillas', apes, because that's what they were, common thugs." He pulled into the drive, up to the chains that closed off access to the building, helped his wife out and stood leaning against the car as he smoked another cigarette.

"It's a huge place for just five men; surely they didn't have the run of it all by themselves."

"No, most was closed off and off limits, all the more valuable things stored away out of reach; well, supposedly. And there were the guards, of course. But one of their team was a safecracker, another a pickpocket and second-story man, so I doubt they didn't wander pretty much where ever they wanted to. Got pulled out of here by the military on the spur of the moment after the war, just so they wouldn't have a chance to strip the place bare; intended to ship them back to where they came from, but somebody raised holy Ned, spouting about the contracts the military had given them, parole in exchange for the job, and for some reason, the whole idea got dumped."

"Well, Lionel, while it does seem a very odd idea in the first place, if there really was a contract and they fulfilled their part, surely . . ."

He shook his head in disgust at her naive comment, typical of the foolish immature thing she was likely to say and he was trying to break her from saying, "making deals with the devil. All I know is HQ was like a hornet's nest when it all happened, and the ones who'd tried to get them shipped back where they belonged, they ended up serving in one of the middle-of-nowhere bases where it's dark half the year, and you freeze your tail off all the time. Wouldn't have thought guys like that would have friends that powerful; probably blackmailed someone into it! They just disappeared after that, all of them; at least, I never heard any more about them. Probably all back in prison somewhere, Garrison included, the way he was headed."

She turned away from the big stone building. "May we stop for lunch? There was a signpost that said there was a village around here; maybe they'd have someplace suitable," she suggested.

"Brandonshire, yes. There used to be a decent pub there, don't know about now. Brandonshire - now that brings back memories! Used to hate the sound of that name, just knew it was trouble!" He shook his head, "it wasn't enough that Garrison's team was posted here, but the Base wasn't that far away so a lot of the men would come down here to the pub and get into trouble."

He snickered, "another one of the Special Forces people lived here in one of the cottages on the outskirts of the village, a woman; they called her The Dragon, some called her the Ice Queen, some a whole lot worse. If the trouble wasn't involving Garrison's hoodlums, it was more than likely involving her. Touchy as blue blazes, a really vicious fighter; anyone tried anything with her, ended up in the hospital half the time. I understand there was even a pool, you know, bets laid down, as to when, who and how many she'd lay up the next time. And there always was a next time, always some guy thinking he'd be the one to catch her attention, melt the Ice Queen."

"But they kept trying? Was she that pretty, Lionel?"

"Pretty," he frowned, "no, not pretty. Attractive, I'd say maybe, dark red hair, good figure, I remember, but nothing really special; never understood the attraction, even without knowing about her temper."

"I remember one time," and he laughed in remembering, "one of Garrison's guys got banged up on a mission and the local doctor put him up at her cottage til he healed more. My Aide and I delivered him there personally; Garrison was still in London at a briefing, and I hustled his precious team into cars to get them back here and under guard; couldn't have them running loose in London and I figured it was time they knew what it was like to have someone in charge who could exert a little discipline. Anyway, local doctor examines him, says he has to stay where he can get regular care but not with him because he has another patient taking up the room; gives us directions to this cottage; tells me the man won't enjoy the stay any more than his hostess will, but that it's the best place all around. We dropped this guy off with her, their pickpocket, a scrawny little English guy whose uniform always seemed to just about swallow him, and I imagine he had one heck of a miserable time there; probably spent the whole time wishing the doctor had just let me throw him in the stockade like I'd intended! She gave me holy hell for interrupting her, for expecting her to take her time taking care of one of Garrison's guys; all but cussing me out, her just back from a mission across the Channel, hadn't even had time to wash her hair, and there I was expecting her to babysit, play nursemaid. Hell on wheels; I was glad to get out of there."

He took another puff of his cigarette. "And another time, saw her when she was practicing for a mission with the team, impersonating some Baroness with highly dubious habits, using self-hypnosis to get into the role or some such foolishness, and I'll tell you, I about had nightmares, Helen; scary as, well . . . Like something out of one of those horror movies you like so much; I halfway expected her to spout fangs and claws! Just about did for that pickpocket, had him curled up on the floor shaking and moaning, bit him in the throat, can you imagine, after pinning him to the wall and, well, some really weird stuff, and had my Aide, a big strapping guy, shivering in his boots when she started on him. Shocked me, thought Dillon could handle her, and he did too, bragging it just took more of a man than that little thief to do the job, but didn't take but a couple of minutes of her starting that stuff with him and he bailed!" 

Helen noticed something unusual and asked, "did she have a particular dislike for the man, the pickpocket, I mean? You've mentioned him twice in connection with her, and as if there was a great deal of animosity on her part; what was his name, all of their names?"

He glanced over, "well, I told you about Garrison, Craig Garrison, Lieutenant, US Army. His team, now, the pickpocket was called Goniff, means thief so it fit, English, a real little guy; more of a clown than anything else - never expected him to make it back even from that first mission, but he did, made it all the way through somehow. Another was called Casino, he was the safecracker, a real loudmouth, sounded like a Chicago gangster; more likely to be in a fight than anything else. There was a half-breed Indian, the youngest of the lot, called himself Chief; he was good with a knife and usually acted as their driver, never said much, but always watching; if there was any trouble and a knife was involved, he'd have been the first place I'd have looked. But the couple of times there was, he always had an alibi; always thought Garrison covered for him somehow. He's the one they were saying was the General's natural son; well, really, how likely was that? The one Garrison used as a second-in-command was a tall Italian, a little older than the rest, a con-man; they called him Actor. Had more names than you could list, and probably none of them the one he was born with. A real ladies man, I've heard. He thought a lot of himself; carried himself and spoke like he was one of the upper class."

"Well, they all acted like they were as good as anyone else, better than most; that's what comes from letting them stay in a place like that on their own, letting Garrison pamper them like he did. Should have been housed on the Base, in the stockade and only let out for the assignments! That's what I would have done." 

Helen pulled the subject back around to her original question. "So you didn't say, did she have a particular dislike for the man, the pickpocket, or for the team itself?"

"Not that I know of. There were even some back at HQ who suggested some involvement between those two, though others named other names, maybe even Garrison, maybe one, even more of the others. Certainly Garrison would have been a more likely one, but he was pretty careful about not getting involved with anyone; just too risky with all the information he had floating around in his head. Only sensible thing I can say for him."

"But she knew people pretty high up in the social scene there, mixed with them pretty freely, and her being involved with any of those men, well, that wouldn't have been tolerated. Still, there was talk; well, there always is, which is what I've been warning you about, Helen."

"But as for her being involved with any of them, nonsense, of course; mostly put about by those who made a play for her and got put in their place. One guy, a Major Danvers, he started spreading some really wild stories after she turned him down; I mean REALLY wild, things I couldn't begin to tell you, Helen, things not fit for a woman to hear, about Garrison and his guys and the O'Donnell woman, even started throwing Major Richards' name into the mix; should have known that would just make him look even more ridiculous. Richards had his faults, but this was early on when he hadn't let Garrison snow him, and I don't think I've met a more straight-laced man, not in the military anyway. Danvers didn't last too long up there, not for that, but because he started having problems with the teams he was leading, no one wanted to work with him anymore, some ending up flat out refusing to work with him."

"That was one of the problems with the Special Forces teams; the missions they were sent on, the things they did, it was all so remote from usual military service, they were outside the usual chain of command a lot of the time, and started thinking they could think for themselves, decide things for themselves, forgot their place." He thought back for a minute or two.

"And there was this Lieutenant Duffy, she actually decked him in the Commissary, right in front of everyone for some stuff he was saying when Garrison's team was late getting back from a mission; well, it was pretty nasty stuff, even for them, bringing in some of the same kind of stuff Danvers had been spouting. Of course, the other teams thought that was just great, what she did; they were pretty ticked off with Duffy too. Discussing the missions, especially ones that weren't even over yet, that should never have happened; too dangerous for a lot of reasons. Still, hitting an officer just wasn't right, but she wasn't even reprimanded for it, and although it made no sense, she became a sort of hero to some of the men, and you had to be careful just how you talked about her or you'd get really funny looks or worse." 

Kingston was developing just a bit of a frown, remembering things he perhaps hadn't put together before.

"There were maybe a couple of others she had words with - a submarine commander, Nelson I think his name was, and there was some talk about a Colonel Delacourt, although maybe I'm thinking of Colonel Pryor. I know Garrison made noises about Nelson and Delacourt, accused them of leaving his team behind to get killed; nonsense of course, but he never did think straight about them, as I told you. Never heard the ins and outs of what the issue was with Pryor. Nelson was just following orders, even if Garrison didn't like the way he went about it; his orders were to bring back Garrison and the information, and that's what he did. His orders hadn't said anything specifically about Garrison's team, after all; he figured his orders were worded that way for a reason, so he took off before they got there. Never did hear how the four of them ended back at the Mansion; surprised they didn't take off for Switzerland or someplace; maybe the Underground grabbed them, shipped them back before they had the chance. The woman spread the word that anyone working with Nelson had better be damned sure of his orders, or they were likely to be left in the lurch. A lot of the team leaders and independents listened to her, made the briefings get really specific so there wasn't much leaway; really put Nelson's nose out of joint, and I can't say I blame him; made it sound like he didn't know his job."

"Delacourt, there was a mixup with the briefing; Delacourt said Garrison got to the pickup point two days too early, Garrison claimed Delacourt delayed the pickup, could've gotten them all killed; he did have some injuries on that one, I believe, him and his team. Nothing to do with the woman, that time; Delacourt didn't have any connection to her, except she was one of the ones in the debriefing room when the accident happened; one of the Aides tripped over something, maybe his own feet or someone elses, and doused Delacourt with scalding coffee all down the front; they ended up shipping him to a hospital for a couple months, I think, third degree burns, then he was reassigned." 

He saw his wife give him a rather odd look.

"What?"

"It just seems . . . Well, I suppose it was just because they were all from this area that you seem to be mentioning them together so often."

She didn't really believe that, was seeing a strong pattern in fact, but Lionel liked to think he was supremely knowledgeable and observant, and she tried to accommodate him since it made him happy, and if he was happy, her life was much easier. She was starting to wonder if it was really worth all this effort though; that's what this trip was all about, spending some concentrated time together, her trying to make up her mind before she ended up in Germany with him, a place she wouldn't know anyone else, would have more trouble getting away if she needed to.

His frowned a little more, "I always figured it was because she was Special Forces; they all pretty much stuck up for each other, even if they didn't like each other personally. None of the Special Forces teams or the independents mixed well with the regular military; undisciplined, the whole lot of them, flew by the seat of their pants more often than not, no respect for authority. The teams might not like each other, but they'd close ranks against anyone on the outside threatening them." 

They pulled into the small parking area to the side of the village pub; the sign above the door told any and all that this was "The Doves". He held the door open for her and they made their way into the warmth inside.

"Well, this certainly looks neat and well-cared for," Helen said with satisfaction. Some of the places they'd stopped had been otherwise, and she did hate to get her dress bespattered or the soles of her shoes sticky, and sometimes the food, well, sometimes it was less than ideal. The bartender blinked at them, and then showed them to a side table, gave them menus, poured them coffee at their request, and stepped away. They didn't see him pick up the phone and make a call, wouldn't have thought much about it even if they had. They discussed the menu, talked about their next stop, her 'foolish idea' of taking a part time job, him explaining once again that it was inappropriate for an officer's wife to work in public. She didn't argue, she'd already done that to no avail when he'd poo-poo'd her idea of doing charity work, telling her that was 'demeaning for a woman of your standing', meaning, of course, demeaning for a woman married to someone of HIS standing.

"You'd be mixing with all kinds of riff-raff and ne're-do-wells, Helen; not at all the thing." They had a cup of coffee, and didn't look up when the others entered the room and positioned themselves at the bar and around the room. She was debating between something called a 'Ploughman's Lunch', though that sounded rather heavy for mid-day, and an egg salad sandwich 'with veg'. Lionel was pontificating on just what that first would be, and bemoaning the lack of hamburgers on the menu, wondered at the putting of something called 'bitter greens' on the menu, when that first voice came from the bar.

"Well, well, now. Ma-jor King-ston. Fancy seeing you 'ere after all this time. Ruddy small world, now aint it?" came from a short slender blond man leaning his back up against the bar, his arms crossed over his chest, his brows raised in gentle mocking 'surprise'.

A tall dark haired man stood at the other end, close to their table, sipping from a half-pint of ale, "now, Goniff, that oak leaf is silver, not gold. That means our Major Kingston is now a Lieutenant Colonel, am I not right?"

"Blimey, that's right! Never did see 'ow gold was used for a Major, and silver for the ones above, but then, that's the Brass for you, more often than not gettin things all bolluxed up, ei Actor?"

The tall man with the rather elegant Italian accent spoke with a resigned sigh, "ignore him, Colonel, I often do. And this lovely lady would be?"

Colonel Kingston seemed too thunderstruck to answer, but Helen gave a soft laugh and extended her hand, "I'm Helen Kingston. My husband has mentioned you both, I believe."

A voice from the entrance made them turn their heads, "yeah, I just bet he has; we've mentioned HIM a time or two ourselves," and the smirking grin on the good looking man standing there won a quick smile from her as well.

"Hey, Chief, look who showed up!" brought their attention to the dark young man, leaning against the doorway; Helen noticed he seemed to, oh my goodness! have a knife strapped to his forearm. There was no response except a dry, measuring look at the Colonel. She noted that he had really lovely dark eyes.

"Did I hear we had guests, Casino?" and a tall blond haired man with green eyes stepped in from the back hallway, stopping as he took in the newcomers.

"Kingston," he said flatly, no welcome in his voice, not even one of the mockingly insincere types like the others had given.

Colonel Kingston was thinking by now that he'd stepped into a nightmare, that he'd wake up in their hotel room recovering from a surfeit of that rather indigestable dinner they'd had last night. He pinched himself surreptitiously, and then knew it wasn't a dream after all.

He nodded stiffly, "Garrison. I'm surprised to see you here, all of you."

"Can't imagine why, Colonel. 'Ome sweet 'ome, it is, after all, for all of us, though w'at you're doing 'ere, that's the question, now aint it?" came from the Englishman at the bar, one Helen now knew was the pickpocket Lionel had kept referring to.

Somehow he was quite different than what she'd imagined; one of the things Lionel had mentioned was how sloppily he had always been dressed, had indicated he was a bit of a clown, perhaps rather ineffectual. There was nothing in the least clown-like OR ineffectual about the watchful man, compact and sleek, facing her now. Of course, those close fitting denim jeans and jacket did rather show him to advantage, and that blue shirt really brought out those unusual blue eyes. He had an air of command about him she would never have expected from Lionel's description.

She looked around at the five men; nothing Lionel had said had prepared her for such attractive men, though all quite different, of course; she failed to find anything coarse or off-putting about any of them, though she could see them not getting along well with her husband, all being too self-assured and self-confident; no, he'd not have been at all taken with them.

A woman moved into the room from behind Garrison, dark red hair coiled around her head, an infant held to her shoulder.

"Aye, and that it is, love. Colonel Kingston, were you just passing through, or did you have business here in our little village, in our pub?"

The woman's face was calm and watchful, confident in her self, her place in the scheme of things. Helen found herself envying her quite a bit. Somehow, even though that was spoken in a pleasant, even serene voice, there was nothing welcoming about it, perhaps even something faintly challenging; Helen saw the look on her husband's face, uncomfortable and offended before, was now more than a little apprehensive, and Helen knew for certain now who this had to be.

"And you would be The Dragon, I presume?" Helen asked with an amused smile, introducing herself.

"That I am, though most call me Meghada now." Helen was pleased that the frosty reception being afforded Lionel did not include her so far. The redhead shifted the babe in her arms in order to free her right hand, extended it to meet Helen's in a careful handshake.

"And this is?"" Helen smiled down at the wrapped bundle, seeing fair skin and a mass of dark red curling hair, gold-brown eyes and a bit of a pout on that wide generous mouth.

"And this is Marya Couran, our M'Coury, and I apologize in advance if she starts fussing; she's starting to cut a tooth and none too pleased about it. I'm told she has my temper," with an amused smile at the small sounds of fervent agreement from around the room. 

Helen started to ask if she could hold the infant, though the slight hurrmph from Lionel told her how he viewed that. She'd told her sisters before the start of this trip that she was starting to feel like a well-trained hound, one brief movement of the hand and she was supposed to do this, one hurrmph and she was to cease doing that; she was getting a bit tired of having to watch for all those little signals, as well as the cold disapproval when she either missed one or (though Lionel hadn't quite figured this out yet), pretended to; she was half-expecting to see a rolled-up newspaper in his hand if she really offended. She knew her parents had known her husband for many years, thought much along those same lines, and had greatly encouraged her to accept his offer, even making her retention of her grandmother's small inheritance dependent on that, but she sometimes wished she'd resisted that push more strongly than she had; she'd never thought they were all that well suited, and this last year had not made her think any differently. It was rather like being back under her father's stern and rather grim hand, only worse. 

That thought was put on hold when a very small boy, blond hair and slight of build, ran pell-mell into the room, accompanied by a small black and white dog trotting alongside, and hurled himself in Goniff's direction. The Englishman caught him in mid-leap and swung him up into his arms, settling him high against his shoulder.

"Max aint supposed to be in the pub, you know that. And are you supposed to be running in 'ere?" he asked the boy with mock sternness, which depressing comment was appropriately ignored by the youngster as being unworthy of the man giving it.

"Da, Maxie and me, we found a 'ole nest of rabbits, down by the back wall; Maxie was good, though, didn't bother them once I told 'im not to. Da, Mum says rabbit pellets are good for the garden. Can we take them 'ome? Chiefy and Casino could 'elp me build them a 'ouse and everything! I bet Dad would 'elp me look up in the library 'ow to take care of them and all! I promise I'd feed them. That'd be okay, wouldn't it, Mum? You'd like 'aving rabbits, wouldn't you? I'd let you have all the pellets you want," he offered generously, looking back at the redhaired woman with an eager face.

Helen closed her eyes in sincere amusement, trying not to look at her husband's stunned face. There was no doubt about where that wide mouth had come from, especially with those two heads so close to each other now, though the boy's eyes were green, not blue.

The woman gave a wry grin at Helen, "and this is our Randy, Randall Craig, chatterbox that he is." She gave a mock frown, "and I don't suppose you stopped to wash your hands after your adventuring among the wilds," getting in return a grin matching that of the man holding him, arching that one brow in an obvious imitation, making the resemblence even more obvious, as he answered in an ever so righteous voice

"Wasn't really time, Mum. Dad said lunch was close to being ready, and I knew you wouldn't want me to be late. You know 'ow you get," and Garrison laughed out loud.

"Well, I DID say that, Meghada. You know how you get!" 

Helen felt she was missing something in the conversation, or perhaps getting more than she could process, what with 'Da' and 'Mum' and now 'Dad', those green eyes the exact same color and shape as Garrison's, along with that mouth and smile and build an absolute match for the Englishman's. But the small boy's enthusiasm was contagious and she just had to smile in return when his gaze fastened on her, looking her over carefully, with more of a frank appraisal than she was accustomed to getting from one so young.

"Well, that's what we stopped in for, to perhaps get a bite of lunch," she offered, and Randy piped up with a suggestion.

"Best order the braised pork with bitter greens! It's really, really good! And Grandma says it's ever so 'ealthy and invigorating. Don't know exactly w'at that last word means, and Casino just groans when it comes on the menu and says Mum and Da and Dad don't NEED any more invigorating that 'e can see, from all the singing 'e 'ears at night, but 'e eats it right along with the rest of us, so I think 'e's only teasing."

Helen said that sounded really appetizing, controlling her face with some effort, especially after the looks on everyone else's faces turned so funny, with both Goniff and Garrison blushing slightly, and Meghada getting a remarkably attractive and slightly smug grin on her face, only to have Lionel take her elbow in a tense hand.

"I think we're running too far behind schedule for that, Helen; we'll get something later," and she hardly had time to nod her smiling farewell to the men she'd just met, the women, the boy and his baby sister while her stiff husband lay some money on the table for the coffee and all but pulled her toward the door. 

Yes, Lionel was in a rare mood, she knew, and she braced herself for an unpleasant drive til he got over it. It couldn't be easy, she knew, to find out you'd been flummoxed so thoroughly and so well, especially for someone with an ego like her husband's, and she knew from past experience he had absolutely NO sense of the ridiculous. She rather thought he'd never quite forgive her for having witnessed that scene, especially right after all he'd told her with such self-satisfaction, but she was more than halfway to the idea that it wouldn't matter whether he forgave her or not, as long as she was elsewhere and she was pretty sure she would be before long. She'd already changed out four of the diamonds in her grandmother's bracelet for money, thanks to that helpful man at the jewelry store; that was tucked safely aside for her to use in leaving and getting re-settled, somewhere far away from him AND from her parents. She herself would think about this day often, she knew, when she was alone, and giggle to herself; she knew her sisters, who had escaped the family strangle-hold many years ago, and who thought Lionel was dead dreary, would love hearing all of this. 

In the pub, hearing that car door slam, hearing the tires squeal as the visitors left in a rush, the small boy looked at his family.

"Why'd they leave before eating? There's other things they could 'ave gotten, if they didn't like the sound of the pork and greens, though I don't know why they wouldn't. 'E was a bit of a gudgeon, but she seemed nice enough. Wouldn't 'ave minded getting a closer look at that bracelet she 'ad on; an old-fashioned setting, but worth a few pounds, I wouldn't wonder, though I think someone slipped in a few of the fake with those diamonds, those four along the side," and Casino snickered and then broke out into a laugh.

"Think they left just in time, kid; don't think Kingston's blood pressure would take you snitching that off her wrist; already looked like he was ready to blow."

Randy developed just a bit of a pout on that wide mouth, the one a match for his Da and his baby sister, "well, aint like I'd 'ave let 'im catch me at it, Casino, now is it? W'at do you take me for, a ruddy amateur?"

And the room roared, and The Dragon assured her son, him with all of just a bit over four years to his name. "Well, of course not, love, never think it! Now, about those rabbits . . ."


	2. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helen was running away, just as fast as she could, hoping without much real hope of finding a place of safety, just a place where she could rest for a bit and think about her next move. Just what she imagined she'd find in the way of help, she didn't know. She certainly never expected to find a pint-sized Champion willing to offer her Sanctuary and put all the forces at his disposal between her and the angry man who was pursuing her.

She took the side roads as much as she could, but alternated with the the main roads sometimes to gain speed, never a straight path, winding and dodging. She didn't know for sure that he was following, but she felt he was, felt it in the pit of her stomach and in the way the hair on the back of her neck quivered. With the fingers of one hand she reached up to tenderly touch the one of the several bruises he'd left her with. The road signs were hard to find, but somehow, with the aid of that map she'd bought at her first stop she made her way steadily southwards. Would he guess where she'd gone? Did he have that much imagination? She just didn't know. She'd stopped a couple of times, but only when absolutely necessary, and made no purchases that could call attention to herself. Maybe, just maybe . . .

Her thoughts were on just how her parents were going to react when they heard that she'd packed a few things in a bag and while he was off drinking with an old Army buddy he'd spied on the street near the Nottingham Inn, she'd taken the car and made her escape. A giggle escaped her at the thought of him trying to explain that to the rental agency, but it was not one of humor so much as pent up hysteria.

So intent were her thoughts, she almost missed the road sign that told her she was close, so very close to what she hoped would be a sanctuary of sorts. Of course, she didn't know if they'd take her in, let her rest for awhile while she thought through her next steps. Maybe they would, perhaps just as a way to get some of their own back for all her husband had done; there were certainly no warm feelings there.

She'd never intended to do this; well, she'd thought about it many times, but had always thought she'd do it from home, that rather nice but cold apartment in New Bedford, back in the States. There she had some resources, some money stashed away, some friends, her sisters, though she knew she couldn't have counted on her parents to help; they'd have sent her right back to Lionel with a thundering scold for her 'wilfulness'. She was probably mad to make her escape here where she knew no one, where she'd perhaps be easier to track due to her accent, her lack of British citizenship. And how she was supposed to support herself once her Grandmother Ada's bracelet ran out of diamonds, she had no idea.

But that last night, no, she knew she couldn't stay, wouldn't stay! It wasn't so much the fact that he'd hurt her, deliberately, left bruises in addition to the one leaving her eye swollen almost shut, but that he'd told her so openly, so sincerely that it was her own fault; if she wouldn't disagree with him, would obey, would act as his wife was supposed to act, it wouldn't have been necessary.

Her grandmother had left her more than the bracelet adorning her right wrist; she'd left her with stories, including one of her grandmother's older sister, one who always wore bruises, seemed positively accident prone to outsiders. One who apparently had a husband who also didn't like that she had opinions of her own; a husband who grew to decide he didn't like how she cooked, kept house, dressed, and many other things. The story had not ended well.

She remembered her father scolding her mother for letting Ada tell her such things, saying "gives her all kinds of ideas. No, she needs to listen to Reverend Davis, read her Bible, learn a woman's proper place, learn the husband is the head over the wife and the family. That would do her far more good than listening to morbid stories from an old woman who's probably remembering it wrong anyway. Everyone knew Mary was just the sickly sort, weak, fell a lot." Now, she wondered if her mother had worn bruises too, just hid them well. {"Father is a pompous ass; I had to be out of my mind to let myself be bullied into marrying another one!"}

She pulled up to the small pub she'd visited so recently, frowned as she realized the car could be seen by any passing car, and seeing the slight indentations in the grass that told her other cars had been that way before, pulled around to the back, not even stopping at the rear but turning right into a wide alley and leaving the car further down; the bumper was still slightly visible, but it was the best she could do, a pile of wood blocking her from pulling in further. Locking the door, she took her purse, heaved a deep breath, strengthened her resolution, and made her way to that back door.

She'd intended to knock, but was stopped by a piping voice, "did you come back to try that pork and bitter greens?" And she smiled down at the small boy perched on an overturned bucket, whittling on a chunk of wood, small black and white dog sitting alongside keeping him company, or maybe keeping guard over him.

"Well, you made it sound so appetizing, Randy."

He looked her over carefully, "'e do that to your face, that gudgeon you were with?"

Flushing, she nodded.

"e come with you, or is 'e trailing along behind?" The part of her mind that was still thinking, reflected on how odd it was to be having this conversation with a small child. The look on her face, her hesitation caused him to get up off the bucket, look down to where she'd left her car.

"Wait 'ere," and he dashed into the pub, only to return with a tall burly man.

"Randy said something about a car, miss?"

"Lou, it needs to be 'id, someplace where someone's not likely to find it even if they go looking, but where we can get to it later."

Lou tilted his head back, looking down at the little boy, "Randy, you're up to something; I know that look," getting a wry grin, one so much like the one she'd seen on his father.

"Got a gudgeon chasing 'er, one who likes to use 'is fists on 'er. Met 'im, we did; Da and the others knew 'im from before; didn't like 'im much, Mum was fair to spit in 'is ugly face, though doubt 'e could 'ave seen it; you know 'ow she is."

Lou nodded, seeming to accept all that without question, which even in her confused state seemed rather odd.

"If you'll give me the keys, miss, I'll take care of it. You taking her to your mum?" getting a nod from the boy.

Helen remembered, "my bag! It's in the car!" only to get a strangely comforting pat on her shoulder from the big man.

"Nevermind about that, miss; I'll see it gets over to you. Go along with Randy and Max; they'll get you there. Best use the back ways, Randy, and don't let that pest Doby spot her."

And her hand was grasped by a much smaller one, and she was led away down a back path, and into a wooded area, eventually ending up at a stone wall and a tall black metal gate, securely padlocked. He looked at her appraisingly, "I usually go over," pointing to the wall. She looked up, up; it was a very tall stone wall and she was in a slim-skirted dress and heels.

With huge eyes, she looked down at him, "uh, I'm not sure . . ."

"Oh, it's alright; we don't 'ave to go over; someday I'll teach you 'ow, though; it's lots of fun."

He pulled a thin piece of metal from his belt, and to her incredulous eyes, he cheerfully picked the lock on the barred gate, swinging it open, and motioned her through. He grinned at her, "there's a key, but this is more fun, and good practice too!"

Once inside, he bade her wait, scrambled up and over the wall, relocking the gate, then up and over to take her hand and lead her to the first door in what she could now see was a long, very long structure, like someone had taken a typical English cottage and stretched it out further and further. His hand felt very warm in her cold one, and remarkably comforting somehow. She wondered if she'd get such a warm welcome from the older members of the family. He tapped on the door, some odd combination of taps, winked at her, "just in case they're busy; 'singing', you know," with a huge grin. She remembered that mentioned in the pub, knew what he meant, and although she tried to be shocked at a child his age even knowing about such things, that grin was just so open and held such amusement, she just couldn't be. Lionel would be appalled, she knew; well, she didn't intend to take Lionel as an example in anything, not anymore. 

"Randy? Come along in and wash up; you and Maxie . . ."

The redhead stood there, staring at the now highly nervous woman standing there, taking in the rumpled dress, the bruised face, the trembling lips and tightly clenched hands. She nodded knowingly, reaching out a hand to draw Helen in through the doorway, "come along in, my dear. Now, do you prefer coffee or a nice cup of tea, or maybe a bit of bourbon instead? And when did you eat last? Randy, go get my woolly sweater, will you? The oversized green one; that's extra cozy."

He gave her an odd look, but moving toward one of the side rooms as he spoke, "aint cold today, mum."

"Yes, love, but I think she's a bit chilled inside; will do her no harm to see if warming the outside helps with that."

He was back, Helen was bundled into a soft warm woolen sweater coat, tucked up into a big armchair, Randy completing the effort by dashing to the side of the room to get a woolen throw and carefully tucking it over her lap, nodding firmly, "there, that should take care of that old chill!"

{"He really is a darling,"} raising her eyes to meet the knowing look on the face of boy's mother, seeing that nod of agreement.

"Aye, he is," Meghada smiled fondly. "Now, about that drink. What did you decide on? Let's get you started and I can see about getting you something to eat."

Helen thought about something she'd read once; that the signs of true caring was being asked - are you hungry, are you cold, something along that line. Then it came to her, from all that Bible reading, the quote from Matthew, about 'I was hungry and you fed me, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in," and she couldn't help it, she started to cry, one hand cupped over her mouth. Softly at first, then with greater intensity, and there were warm arms around her, and soft murmurs in her ear, then the addition of a small warm body to her lap and two small arms joining in the hugs.

Somehow, that caused the tears to turn to a strangled laugh, and she was hugging him back, rocking back and forth with him. Meghada pulled back and watched; Randy's eyes were a little big, now, like he wasn't really sure he was up to this, but their little mother-hen, so much like his Da, swallowed hard, firmed his chin, and told the woman hugging him so tight, "don't you worry, miss. We won't let that old gudgeon get you. I promise. We don't like 'im anyway!"

Meghada shared with Helen, "as like his Da as he can be in many ways; Goniff has one of the kindest hearts I've ever known, and one of the most fierce when it comes to protecting what he's decided is his to protect. I take it you've left 'the gudgeon'?" Getting a nod in return, "how did you get here?" and Randy told her about his arrangement with Lou.

Meghada shook her head, not in disapproval, but in amusement, "now that he gets from Craig; 'let's plan it out, then, hop to it, let's get the job done,' a strategist and leader, he is, Randy's Dad. I'll leave you two . . ." and the clanging of a bell caused her head to jerk around. Helen was more than startled to see a revolver appear as if by magic as the now quite dangerous looking woman made her way toward the kitchen.

"Might be Lou, Mum; 'e was to bring 'er things," the small boy cautioned. She just nodded and continued to the door where Randy had dashed to bring Helen that sweater. {"Very handy it is, that spy window we tucked in during the remodeling; we can see outside the gate without anyone ever knowing."}. Seeing it was indeed Lou, she went out to hand a key through the grill; Lou undid the lock, opened the gate and passed through the bag, pulled and relocked the gate, handing the key back.

He received her thanks with a cheery "no problem; I'm to tell the mister we've not seen her since they passed through, am I right?" Getting the answer he expected, he headed back to the pub, whistling. {"Things might get a bit interesting afore too long."}. He wouldn't mention any of this to Jake, Nellie, Josie, any of the others, not til he had leave from the Cottage to do so. They could be trusted, certainly; but it was easier for one to keep a secret than several, he knew. 

 

Goniff bounced through the door as usual, followed by Craig. "And I still don't see why we 'ave to give it ba . . ." Goniff's voice trailed off as he spotted the American woman seated at their kitchen table, bundled in Meghada's sweater-coat, relishing a bowl of her stew and warm bread.

Craig almost walked into him before he realized, "what the . . .? Meghada?"

"Hello, loves. You remember our guest, Lizzie, don't you? She'll be staying with us for awhile," and the looks on the two men's faces were alike in their stunned expressions. They were polite, reserved, cautious, and truly Helen Kingston, now re-christened Lizzie Tearmann, couldn't blame them. After she'd finished her meal, Meghada showed her to one of the guest rooms, made sure she had everything she needed to get freshened up and went back to the kitchen where she knew she had some serious explaining, and probably some equally serious convincing to do. 

"And what do we tell Kingston w'en 'e pops 'is ugly self in?"

"We tell him the last time we saw 'Mrs. Kingston' was when they came into the pub."

"Meghada," came as a warning drawl from Craig.

"Craig, it's not exactly a lie, and since when do we let ourselves worry overmuch about such things anyway, not to the likes of him? She's not calling herself, doesn't consider herself 'Mrs. Kingston' anymore; she's 'Elizabeth Tearmann' to be called Lizzie, until she decides on something she likes better. She says Lizzie was the name of her best friend's favorite doll when she was a child; that she used to pretend she WAS Lizzie, hoping that would mean she could stay there and not have to go back to her own home; but HE won't know that. It doesn't seem they have the kind of relationship for her to be sharing childhood tales."

"And 'Tearmann', that means 'sanctuary', Dad," Randy explained from the doorway, determined look on his face. "It's in some of the stories Mum's told me."

Craig looked at Meghada, then at Randy, who now had that sly look of amusement that usually meant mischief at the least; well, Garrison had known that look for several years now, though first on another face.

"And who decided on that name?" Goniff asked, looking between their son and the Dragon.

"I offered her the name," Meghada said with a look of mischief almost the match of their son's, "Randy offered her the reality. And I quote," mimicking his piping voice, "Don't you worry, miss. We won't let that old gudgeon get you! I promise! We don't like 'im anyway!" and her two men looked at each other and exploded with laughter, remembering Goniff saying much the same after one of their past encounters, Craig answering him with a "it's alright, Goniff. I don't like him either!" Of course, it wasn't only Major Kingston who'd been the recipient of that little exchange; there had been others, Major Johns for one, but perhaps his had been most memorable.

Craig finally wiped his streaming eyes, "sometimes I don't know whether he gets all that from you or from her, the protectiveness, the sheer cheeky in-your-face attitude, all ready to back it up tooth and nail if need be!"

And Goniff grinned, "not too shabby in that regard yourself, you know, Craig. Think maybe 'e gets a share from each! Well, if 'e's decided she's to be protected from 'the gudgeon', guess we just 'ave to see to it. So, tell us what's 'appened, and don't leave anything out."

And they sat around the kitchen table, Randy right along side, and talked it through. If some of what was said was perhaps not what most would have thought a small boy should be hearing, well, Randy wasn't a typical small boy; he was Clan and had knowledge far beyond his years. The scowl on his face had deepened at one point, "Casino told me once, when 'e and Chiefy was warning me about people, what some might try on, w'at to watch for, told me a body 'as the right to say No, no matter who's doing the asking; and nobody 'as the right to just take; don't know 'er being 'is wife changes that. Does it, Mum?"

She reached out to stroke that soft blond hair, "no, love, it doesn't. No still means No. Doesn't mean there can't be some discussion amongst grownups, but if it still comes up No, then it's set. And til you're past your Internship, it's ALWAYS No."

And a questioning look from the boy to his fathers confirmed they agreed with what she'd said. Oh, there had been times when she'd said No; sometimes she only half meant it, being a trifle annoyed with them and wanting to let them know it. Then she could usually be teased out of it. But when she'd been serious, and there was no doubt when she was, well, that was the end of it. And truthfully, that had only been maybe twice, and while they hadn't known or maybe understood her reasons, she had her reasons and they accepted that, couldn't imagining doing anything else. There'd been a time or two when it had been one of them saying No, and that had been accepted as well, no thought of doing otherwise.

Garrison thought of that swollen eye, the heavy bruising, the stiff way the woman had been moving, and his mouth grew tight at the thought. Randy seemed to be thinking along those same lines, for he frowned mightily.

"I don't like that 'e did that to 'er face; maybe you can teach 'er a thing or two while she's 'ere, Mum. Maybe that bit with the roll of coin, eh? Maybe next time someone tries something on, gudgeon or not, she kicks 'is balls up and out through 'is ruddy teeth!"

And this time Craig Garrison had to leave the table he was laughing so. He met Helen Kingston, no, he met Lizzie Tearmann just outside the doorway; he could tell by her face she'd heard that last little bit, at least. The expression on her face was indescribable. He put his hand carefully, gently on her shoulder, "come on in, Lizzie; have a drink with us. And he's right; maybe you should let Meghada, the rest of us show you a few things. Wouldn't hurt, you know," he urged her with a kind look on his face.

And for the first time in a long time, she laughed, a real, sincere, honest laugh, though with a trace of tears in her eyes. "You know, Mr. Garrison, I do believe you're right!" By the time the rest of the team came in for a drink, they were all on a first name basis, and Lizzie Tearmann felt like a new woman, bruises notwithstanding. That with all their history with her, no, not her anything, with Lionel Kingston, that they could so easily and cheerfully take her in and give her sanctuary, that was almost beyond her comprehension.

Lt. Colonel Lionel Kingston was following, stopped, made inquiries, got some who remembered her or the car, and did eventually make his way back to Brandonshire, only to be met with a blank stare from Lou and Jake at the pub. Jake remembered him from the prior visit; he'd been the one making that phone call alerting the Cottage that time. Lou didn't know him, but not too many sour-faced, poker-up-the-ass American Lieutenant Colonels passed through their little village, well, not anymore. {"Randy had it right; a gudgeon if I ever saw one!"}.

The answers from both were pretty much the same. From Lou, he got a "weren't here when you passed through before; aint's seen any lone females not belonging to someone around." From Jake, he got "of course I remember you, you and the missus both. Left in a hurry, as I recall; didn't much fancy the menu for the day. Pity, was extra good too! Nope, aint seen your missus since; well, and why would I now? Gone and lost her, have you, Colonel? Aint that a bit careless like?" That got him a dirty look.

His demand to see Garrison got a shrug, and a casual, "don't know he's at home, but I'll give him a shout." Lou turned to the phone.

"No! You tell me where he lives! I'll go there myself!"

"Don't know I'd do that if I were you, Colonel. Meghada, she's a private person; don't like strangers around. And you may not know, being as how you're a stranger and all, but she has the devil's own temper! Always has had. Real firm ideas about who she lets on the property along with all else, even more since she's had the boy. Known her for almost twelve years now; work for her and her menfolk; aint never stepped foot inside her house, wouldn't think of being so bold as to try! They used to run a pool outta the Base, you know, about . . ."

He snapped, "I know all about the damned pool! And I knew her back then so I know she's a damned bitch on wheels! Just give me the goddamned directions!" only to see the two bartenders shift their eyes to the doorway behind him. He turned to see a stocky man with sandy hair and stern eyes looking at him.

"Seems you need to get better manners and watch your language too, Colonel. Just like a lotta you Yanks who came to our friendly little village during the war and some after. You want to talk to Mr. Garrison, or Miss O'Donnell, well, guess that's your business. I'll show you the way. And you'll abide by their decision whether to let you in, and I'm thinking it would be like another parting of the seas if that happens. And, whichever, I'll be standing right there to see you abide."

The demand from Kingston to know just what right the newcomer had to interfere got a plagmatic reply. "I'm Constable in these parts, Colonel; that's my 'right', also my responsibility. Don't intend to let those who live here be harassed by any and all who just show up and take the notion. Haven't had the pleasure of locking up any soldier-boys for some time; might be out of practice, but I'm sure I'll remember enough," and that smile was grim and self-confident.

Kingston stormed out, followed Ben Miller to that end cottage. The woman he'd remembered from his time in England, the one he'd met again in that pub just a few days ago came to the gate in answer to the bell.

"Aye, Ben? What's to do?" not even acknowledging the fuming Kingston standing at the Constable's side.

Ben jerked his head, indicating his companion, "Colonel here wants a word with you or Mr. Garrison."

Her eyes shifted to Kingston, "well? You'll have to make do with me," and her voice was as cold as could be. And he started off crisp and rigid, moving right along toward obnoxious, not that he had far to travel along that road.

"Oh, give it a rest, Kingston, you're coming off as a bloody boor," came a weary voice from behind him. Kingston whirled, recognizing that voice.

"Richards? What are you doing here?"

That got a raised brow from the former Major, "joining my family for the weekend. What are YOU doing here?"

And the Colonel sputtered a bit, passing over the 'family' part of that statement. He sputtered, he ranted, he stumbled around a little when Kevin Richards asked "and why would your wife be here, Colonel? A little careless of you to misplace her, don't you think?" echo'ing what Jake had said earlier; Kingston was no more pleased to hear it this time.

Meghada shook her head in annoyance, "I've no idea how or why he was so careless as to lose her, Kevin, nor why he would think her to be here, of all places, or even why he'd think we'd let his wife through that gate. Don't take kindly to strangers coming across my threshold; never did, doubt I ever will."

Kingston, living up to Randy's term of 'gudgeon' started in making some nasty comments about her letting Garrison and his hoodlums across her, and he paused and sneered, "threshold".

"Aye, well, they've better manners than you by a longshot, and smarter than you by even more, and one hell of a lot better looking, every last one of them! Here, Kevin, come along in," and she unlocked the gate and drew him inside, clanging the gate shut quickly, missing the irate Kingston's fingers by a hair as he reached to hold it open, so that he had to yank them back sharply. The look on her face showed that had not been an accident either.

Meghada called back toward the house, "Ciena, Coura, Kevin's here!" and Kingston got another shock on top of all the others when the other two O'Donnell sisters, both known to him slightly from their work with Special Services during the war, poured out of the doorway, trailed by two very small boys, both with silver-grey eyes and dark hair. Richards hugged each of the women, kissed each of them firmly on the lips, receiving an equally warm one in return, and tossed each boy up in the air before settling them in the crook of his arms. Kingston's mouth was hanging open at the sight.

"You need me to stay out here, sister?" Richards asked with a raised brow, getting a sly grin in return.

"No, Kevin, go on; you've been away from your family for too long; you are all in the end guest suite, as usual. I can handle the Colonel; well, I always could, couldn't I?" and the look she gave Kingston was one of open and sincerely amused contempt.

Kingston remembered all those times, times he now knew she'd pulled a fast one on him, on him and on so many others, her and Garrison's men, her and that damned pickpocket. He remembered all the times Major Kevin Richards stepped in between him and his efforts to teach the team a good lesson, get them sent to the stockade. He thought of all those rumors, stories he'd just known were just wild tales and he fumed. He leaned forward and started to snarl out something, who knows what, when he was interruped by Ben Miller.

"Colonel, you got what you wanted. You got to see her, you got to ask questions, she gave you your answers. You've gotten to be more rude and annoying than I'd have been inclined to let you get away with; my wife, gentle soul that she is, would've laid her rolling pin upside your head awhile back if you'd talked to her that way. Now, you'll leave. You have ten minutes to be out of the village and on your way; otherwise, it's my jail cell you'll be spending the night in, on charges of harassment, being loud and disorderly, trespassing with intent, and I wouldn't be surprised if I can't think of a few other things along the way."

"Don't worry, though; I'll call up to London, well, when I get around to it; someone I know works with the Yanks at their offices there; I'm sure they'll send someone to bail you out eventually. Wonder what I should set the bail for, now. Depends on how long you're here, acourse, and what the charges end up being. We've been needing a new roof on the community center, and my police station could use a good coat of paint, and there's the boiler for the orphanage. Well, we'll see about that when the time comes. Now, what's it to be?"

Lieutenant Colonel Kingston knew he'd been beat; he didn't know for sure Helen was in there, and in truth really doubted she was; didn't know any reason that motley group would've taken her in in the first place; hell, didn't know how the blasted woman had thought to just pick up and leave, especially in a place where she didn't have any friends to help her! Well, he had more important things to do! She could just figure out how to get back to the States by herself, and she'd better not try trading on his name or position, or crying to him for help either! He was due in Germany in less than two weeks to take charge of his new command. And frankly, ending up in a village jail cell, to languish who knows how long, having to be bailed out by some smirking non-com was a highly unpleasant thought. He was sure his new commanding officer wouldn't be pleased.

{"Alright, the hell with her, her and her foolish ideas! And I'm going to enjoy telling her parents just how their precious daughter has behaved! 'Perfect for being an officer's wife!' Bah!"}

He roared away, and was tight-lipped with anger, already planning the phone call to his attorney to start divorce proceedings. That would look a lot better for an officer than having some foolish flibbertigibbit for a wife running around embarrassing him! Right behind him was the Constable's car. Reluctantly he slowed down to a more proper speed, {"wouldn't put it past the bastard to arrest me for speeding, just to get his damned office painted!"}

Back at the cottage, Lizzie was sitting on Meghada's huge bed, close to but not quite hyperventilating. She'd watched all that through that ever-so-convenient spy-window in the bedroom, watching Lionel's temper tantrum, shaking despite knowing he couldn't see her, watching him be driven away, that Constable Miller right behind him. A tug at her hand brought her to the realization that she had company. She looked down.

"You okay, Lizzie?" he asked, his bright green eyes filled with concern. She felt a tremulous smile come to her face, and she reached over to give him a big hug, "yes, Randy, I'm just fine." She lifted her eyes to see Meghada standing in the doorway, "I'm going to be just fine!" nodding her head firmly.

"Aye, lass, I do believe you are. We'll have a few more of those lessons after lunch, what do you say? Want to come give me a hand with the table? And the guys have a project that I'm doing the background and setup on; would you like to give me a hand with that as well? You might find it interesting."


	3. Re-Born

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laughter. It occurred to her sometimes that she hadn't laughed, really laughed that is, for a long, long time. Now that had changed. Now she found herself laughing at the oddest times and in the oddest situations. Well, that made sense in a way. Helen hadn't had anything to laugh about. Lizzie? Well, that was a different story; each day brought something new and wonderful to her, now that she'd been re-born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, do not use Randy as an example! Do NOT try that at home! No, NONE OF IT! Not even if Goniff promises to help!

Lizzie lay back in the remains of the bed, snickering to herself now that she'd gotten her breath back after the shock. The snicker turned to a chuckle and the chuckle to an out and out laugh. The dark haired man sprawled inelegantly to the left of her half on, half off the mattress, furrowed his brows, coming to a quick boil.

"Now look, kid, it wasnt that funny! And when I get ahold of that little Limey, I'm gonna hang him upside down and shake him til he rattles!"

A quiet chuckle came from her right, "dont know, Casino. Removing just enough of the bedslats to have them go just at that moment? Don't bet on it being Goniff. I'd be checking on where Randy was earlier. Heard him and the Warden yesterday working on lessons about bridges, figuring out how different loads cause different levels of stress, how you can estimate how much weight, vibration, the bridge can handle before it caves." And the look on Casino's face started Lizzie to laughing again. 

And over hot cups of strong coffee laced with heavy cream, Randy with his cup of warm milk with just a few tablespoons of coffee mixed in, the not quite five year old boy earnestly explained how he'd done the calculations.

"See, 'er weight would be fine; add in Casino's or Chiefy's, either one, well, would still be fine. That would just be the balance, right there. Now, 'er weight plus both, well, that would be the stress point. And once they start bouncing around so things start vibrating, that's the breaking point with the number of slats I left and 'ow I straddled them at just the right angles over the rails." He grinned in great satisfaction.

Craig shut his eyes tight and shook his head, "when I said to practice the calculations for a breaking point, I didn't mean for you to use Lizzie's bed as the test, Randy," trying to sound stern, though it was hard with his mind picturing the scene and the look on Casino's face when that bed gave way underneath. {"Talk about coitus interruptus!"} He was having to struggle to keep from laughing.

Bright green eyes looked at him, eyes that mirrored his own, "well, figured Mum would be a trifle upset if I used 'er bed; sides, 'ers being so much bigger, wasn't sure 'ow distribution of load and mass would work out. Maybe next time."

And Meghada was having her own fight to keep from laughing. "Maybe next time NOT! And just how did you get to those slats in the first place? That mattress and box spring might not be nearly as big as mine, but they are still far too heavy for you to be shifting."

And in unison everyone's eyes shifted to the small blond man sitting at the end of the table, sheer cocky grin on his face, one brow raised, "w'at? Asked for my 'elp with 'is 'omework; what kind of a Da would I be to say no?" and just barely made it away from the table and out the door with an outraged Casino right after him.

Lizzie had her face buried in her hands, smothering her laughter. She knew she had never laughed so much in her life before she'd walked in that cottage door all those months ago. Chief and Actor grinned at her, "come on, Randy. Let's go find those bed slats and get Lizzie's room back together. We'll need some extra from the storeroom to replace the ones that broke too."

He got a cheerful answer, "Okay. Dad, next time, can you teach me about boats and how much cargo they can 'old and 'ow to load them right, what makes them go faster, what makes them tilt or sink and everything?" and as they all made their way out the kitchen door, Meghada and Lizzie exchanged a long look.

"Lizzie, I don't know about you, but I think I'm going to put off rowing around on the lake anytime soon," the redhead remarked wryly.

Lizzie agreed but added, "we don't have to tell Casino or Goniff about this next lesson, do we? They DO both know how to swim, right?" and the wicked grin made her look just like one of the family.

Oh, she might not stay here forever, but if she didn't, she'd never regret the time she did spend. And if she left, she'd always come back; after all, this was home; it was the place where she had been re-born.


	4. Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little business, a little sightseeing - a trip to Paris and the surrounding coountryside should have been just a pleasant jaunt for Lynn and Lizzie. If it also presented an ideal opportunity for a little unannounced (at least to the ladies) extracurricular studies by fourteen, almost fifteen year-old Randy, all the more to the good. An unexpected meeting leads to drama, possibly to danger, and to the unfamiliar scenery of a Parisian magistrate's chambers.
> 
> Lionel Kingston may have divorced his foolish and defiant young wife years ago; that didn't mean he'd ever given up his claim on her. She'd been his; she'd be his again, and she'd learn how to behave properly, no matter what it took. An accidental meeting in Paris gives him what he considers the ideal opportunity to reclaim his lost property.

Ten years ago that had been; ten years of becoming a part of a family, of discovering who she really was, where she belonged and with whom. Ten years ago, when Randy had been just four; now the blond headed young man was fourteen, close to fifteen, Practicums completed as well as Internship, deciding what he wanted to do next. He already knew whatever that was, well, it would eventually include Louisa, twin sister to his cousin and best friend Jamie. There was no question in his mind, or in hers, just a matter of time. She was just entering Practicums, had a year of Internship after that, but the feeling was there, had been since they'd been no more than children.

Well, in the meantime Randy was learning the ropes of the organization, not that he didn't really have a solid background having grown up in it. Part of that learning included tailing someone without being seen, which wasn't so easy considering he was rather distinctive with his size and coloring, and when Lizzie and Lynn had decided on a side-trip to see some of the sights around Paris following their meeting with Monsieur Renaud, he'd decided to tag along, without their knowledge. He'd listened to their conversation at the kitchen table when they'd described where they were going.

"Fontainbleau, of course, and Versailles. Hopefully the Chateau Vaux-le-Vicompte, and St-Denis Cathedral Basilica, with the Royal Necropolis, and of course the Musee Baccarat!" Lynn had explained with excitement.

Goniff had frowned and complained, "well, couldn't you 'ave seen all that the last time we were there? Seems all you were interested in was that Giverny place, and the Luxembourg Gardens and the Palais-Royal. What you 'ave in mind now, that would've been better, more interesting-like; we'd all 'ave liked that."

Meghada had given a knowing hrummmpff, "yes, I'm sure, laddie. But we had enough trouble keeping you from 'shopping' at the museums where we actually had business; we didn't have the energy to keep you from snaffling all the goodies in the places on Lynn and Lizzie's list! A full time job that would have been!" and Goniff gave a wry grin, and acknowledged the truth of that; his susceptibility to the 'sparklies and glittery' was hardly a secret.

Actor had given a rather elegant snort, "and we do a great deal of business in France; we hardly need your antics making us persona non grata, you know!"

Randy knew all those names, could have listed out a goodly number of their treasures, Actor having given him a thorough education in such. While he was every bit as attracted to the 'glittery' as his Da, he had much more self-control, if perhaps not quite so much as he thought he did. He presented his plan to his Dad, and Craig, after some thought had agreed it would be a worthwhile experience for their son.

"But not alone. No, I know you don't need a babysitter, and I know you are quite competent. But things happen; you know the rules, none of us go on a job alone, and that's what this is going to be for you, a job. Who do you want to go along, OTHER than Goniff, that is. You need to focus on what you have in mind, not trying to keep him from emptying Versailles of every enameled snuff box in their collection! And I don't want him tempting you into mischief; Actor's right, we do a lot of business in France!"

They'd shared a laugh, and after awhile he decided on Chief, explaining, "Actor could tell me everything about every piece we see, in fact would probably insist on doing just that; you know 'ow 'e is when 'e gets going. And while that would be interesting, it's not what I'm going for; we'd probably lose Lynn and Lizzie while 'e's pontificating on some medieval masterpiece. Casino doesn't speak the language well enough, and 'is itch for trouble 'asn't gotten any less, or so you've all told me. I've no interest in seeing the inside of a Parisian jail. Chief is more likely to let me do what I need to do, just keep a good lookout. Douglas 'as the greater linguistic skills, certainly, but 'e also 'as more mischief in 'im, even now, a lot like Da, and anyway, 'e's supposed to be 'eaded to New York about that Lancaster contract."

While Randy's Cockney accent wasn't as broadly pronounced as Goniff's, it was still there, and no one discouraged him in the use of it. When he really tried, he could drop it entirely, so it wasn't a liability. Besides, the others liked it just fine, and Louisa, well, she thought rather highly of it as well.

Garrison nodded, "yes, that makes sense. Alright, plan it out, get traveling funds from the safe, set it up with Chief. You know the drill; you've helped set up operations for us before. And, Randy? Good luck and have fun!" The grin he got was so much Goniff's grin, Craig Garrison felt his heart turn over at the sight. 

Lynn had had the uncomfortable feeling of someone watching her, following her, and Lizzie had rather tentatively said something quite similar at breakfast.

"Just that creepy feeling you get sometimes, like when Doby's doing his snooping, you know? Only, this is worse, Lynn; it feels familiar somehow, familiar but not comfortable."

She cast an uneasy look around the crowded dining room, her gaze lingering on faces, wondering. Her eyes drifted over the two men sitting in the corner, both with dark hats, hair in long ringlets, the smaller one with thick gold-rimmed glasses; other than a passing thought that wasn't that often she saw a Hasidic Jew in such a setting, much less two, she didn't give it another thought. There was a small group of American military officers at another table, but none that looked familiar. She didn't see the man standing in the shadows beyond the arched entrance, though his eyes never left her. They finished their breakfast, and headed out for their first stop. 

"Hello, Helen. It's been quite a while," he said in those clipped superior tones she remembered so well. She was having trouble breathing now, memories flooding back, the feeling of being trapped starting to overwhelm her. The pathways were empty and she was alone. Lynn had lingered in the giftshop, and Lizzie had moved outside, the smell of perfume in there giving her a mild headache. She'd been sitting on the small park bench outside when he'd approached, stood in front of her til she looked up and recognized him. She'd panicked almost at once, had made a dash away from him, but he was right behind her. She thought she'd heard Lynn call her name, but she couldn't be sure. Now, her back was to the tall tightly clipped hedge and he was standing there, far too close, smiling at her with a terribly amused look on her face.

"Lionel. What do you want?"

"Want, my dear? You. You are after all my wife."

Her nostrils flared, "not likely. We're divorced; we have been for over nine years now, closer to ten."

"A technicality, one that can, and will, be rectified. There's a base here; I am quite sure the chaplain can be convinced to perform the ceremony, putting things back the way they should have been all along. He is a great believer in traditional family values, you see, doesn't really sanction divorce."

There was something very odd about his eyes, Lizzie realized; there was a cold flatness to the pupils, and she wondered if he had started using drugs. He had her by the arm now, and she froze; she'd been given the training, knew what she should be doing to get free, but she froze, her knees trembling because it was him, because of what had happened between them. She looked around frantically for help, but Lynn was nowhere in sight, and the only people she could see was a man in a business suit and hat, facing away and obviously engrossed in his newspaper and a slight young woman in jeans, an oversized denim shirt and a ballcap.

She had just made up her mind to try to pull away again when the young woman passed behind her ex-husband, removed the cap and suddenly changed, so quickly her breath caught in her chest. She'd seen that movement, that change before, recognized it, before that cold smile, that ever so reassuring icy smile came across that gamin face.

"Well, if it aint the gudgeon, after all these years! Coo, Lizzie, thought the old bastard'd be pushing up daisies by now, gone with an apoplexy fit for sure!"

Lionel whirled around at that voice, his eyes widened as he recognized, or thought he recognized the small slender person in front of him. Then he frowned puzzled, "but you aren't . . ." And then his lips ground into each other, "you're the kid! The one at the pub, HER brat!"

A wide smirk crossed that young face, "see, aint that nice, us remembering each other like that! Makes us almost like . . . Well, can't say old friends, now can I? Old enemies, maybe? Naw, you aren't important enough to be an enemy, more likely a nuisance. Come on, Lizzie, Lynn's waiting for you," putting out his hand to take her arm.

"Now you see here! She's not Lizzie, she's Helen; she's my wife; she's coming with me. There's been more than enough interference from you and yours; I always thought she was there, that your people were hiding her!" 

Another voice came, in some crisp amusement, "well, guess you thought right. Now take your hands off her before someone gets hurt," and the man in the business suit now lounged carefully against that lamp post next to the hedge.

Lizzie let out a little whimper of relief at the sight of the dark haired man with the bronze skin.

"Chief!"

He nodded, smiling at her, his eyes cold and steady as he looked at Colonel Lionel Kingston. "Like I said, Colonel, take your hands off my wife," and Kingston's jaw dropped in shock.

"Your wife! Why you . . ." he sputtered, and then started a steady stream of invective. He only vaguely heard the rapid fire deluge of French being set forth by a woman's voice, the steady, calm male voice responding in the same language.

"Colonel, I think it's best you let go of 'er; I doubt you'll find the police officer 'ere overly impressed with your manners, with your laying your 'ands on a lady, another man's wife at that, your behavior and language in a public place, either."

The woman was still talking to the police officer. He recognized Lynn Garrison with no great surprize, just a dark anger at how he'd obviously been misled ten years ago. He turned to the police officer, the one standing there with a stern look, tapping his baton into the palm of his free hand as he motioned Kingston away from Lizzie. With a lot of waving of his hands and loud voice, soon moving to shouting, he tried to impress his position on the French policeman; since Kingston had never bothered to learn French, and the Frenchman was too annoyed to bother to admit to the arrogant American that he COULD speak and understand English, the Colonel got nowhere except an escort to the local station.

The request that the others come along too was acceded to with great courtesy, after a hand signal from Lynn. The explanation given by the policeman to the magistrate was simple enough, all based on what Lynn had told him in perfectly accented French. The woman had been briefly married to the rude American officer many years ago when she was very young and naive, a marriage orchestrated by her parents to their own ends. He had mistreated and abused her vilely, she had run away after one particularly brutal episode; he had legally divorced her much to her relief. She had found love and caring with Mr. Abernathy, there in the dark suit, and they had been married for many years now, quite happily. Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy were in Paris to visit the sights and do some business for the organization they both worked for; they had traveled separately due to a prior engagement on his part. Mrs. Abernathy had traveled in the company of Mrs. Mangiano; Mr. Abernathy had been accompanied by their young nephew, Randall O'Donnell. They were all intending to spend some days viewing the magnificence that was Paris and the surrounding countryside. They were all most perturbed by the actions of Colonel Kingston, of course, and most apprehensive for the safety of Mrs. Abernathy, and perhaps all of them; Mrs. Abernathy took the liberty of interjecting her qualms about his mental state, perhaps his drug use. 

The Colonel's shouting DID get him the local US Military Attache, and that embarrassed young man, as the colonel insisted, challenged Mr. Abernathy's vita, among other things.

"The Colonel says his name is not Abernathy, and they are NOT married!".

The Attache repeated some of the things the Colonel was spouting, and a frown of disapproval came over the magistrate's face.

"I do not see what the gentleman's history has to do with this case, though I would like to see some identification from all the parties," he explained with a somewhat apologetic look at Chief. The impassive face had just a twitch of amusement at those straight lips as he pulled his wallet from his pocket, pulled out his passport. "Rainey J. Abernathy" the magistrate read. Lizzie did the same when requested.

He pulled the small glasses down further as he looked over the bench. "And you can prove this identification is valid?"

Lynn chuckled in great amusement, "well, we could call his father, General Abernathy, though at Rainey's age that does seem a bit much. It would be an overseas call, of course; the General is based out of Virginia for now. He is, by the way, a three-star general with the United States Army, although HE is a gentleman, quite different from THIS man. Or, we could call the Reverend Daniel Standish who performed the marriage ceremony; that would be a cross-Channel call. You could ask me, I was a witness to their marriage, as was Randy here, though he was quite young at the time. My brother and sister-in-law were witnesses to the marriage, and a quick phone call should have them here by morning. You see, the General is my brother's godfather, so we've all known each other, well, it seems like forever. There are a host of others, your honor, in whatever variety you would prefer. And we DO have a number of people here in Paris who can vouch for our identity and our reputations."

She proceeded to reel off a list of names, many quite well known to the magistrate, if only by their own reputation and position, and various organizations, including some of the finest of Parisian museums. "But perhaps this might suffice? He will be most happy to vouch for us, I am sure," writing out a name and a phone number and handing it up. The magistrate took a look, greatly startled if the state of his eyebrows was any indication, looked back at Lynn, then read it again. A phone was brought to him, a rapid explanation of the situation in a very low voice, an obviously equally rapid reply given, and the phone lowered slowly back into place.

The magistrate looked at them, the lovely, calm and assured Mrs. Mangiano; the equally lovely but obviously distressed Mrs. Abernathy leaning into the warm protective arm of her husband; the earnest young man, hardly more than a boy, standing along side. He looked at the seething American Colonel, so representative of everything he disliked about the Americans, particularly the American military, and thought of what that familiar voice, familiar from the radio and the television broadcasts anyway, had just clarified to him, the warm regard that august and highly-placed personage had for members of this group, the services they had provided to La Belle France, both in her time of trial during the war and afterwards. "The gentleman sends you sincere regards from 'Rascal'", pronouncing that with a strange emphasis. 

He cleared his throat, passed over Kingston, and turned his stern gaze over to the very uncomfortable Military Attache.

"We do not take behavior like that of your Colonel Kingston lightly. You will arrange transportation for him, out of France, immediately. He will be our guest until that is done; when you have accomplished that, we will escort him to that transport and see him safely gone, just to be sure he does not change his mind and annoy these good people any further. He is not to return to France; I do not know how successful he is in his career, but he has successfuly made himself persona non grata here, and on the very highest levels!"

And with a wave, a wildly sputtering Colonel Lionel Kingston departed, to learn just what a French jail looked like, even if he was placed in the VIP section which actually had toilet facilities somewhat more refined than an open bucket in the corner.

The Attache swallowed, not looking forward to explaining this to a great many people, his superiors and the commander of the Base where Colonel Kingston was stationed among them, but manfully walked over to the small group, offering his abject apologies, his fervent assurances. He was treated with great politeness, as was the magistrate, who received their sincere thanks.

The magistrate thought that hearing that voice on the other end of the telephone, receiving the thanks of that august personage for 'handling this little matter for my dear friends,' was thanks enough; he looked forward to relating the whole matter to his wife, who would think it all most romantic. He smiled to think that his Michelle, with that little story of romance, might be induced to slip into that little black negligee he'd seen and purchased for her, just for such an occasion.

The policeman from the gardens also received their thanks, and a small 'thank you' was slipped into his pocket by the blond youngster; the discovery of the unexpected presence of a sum substantial enough to allow him to take his family out for a very nice Sunday dinner was most appreciated, but he had done his duty without expecting anything in return. The grateful smiles from the two quite lovely ladies had been quite enough reward. And to see the arrogant American officer taken away to the holding cells, well, that had been rather rewarding as well. He had his own memories of the American military officers.

Chief had taken the precaution of making some quick phone calls, and steps were taken to be sure Colonel Kingston stayed where he was supposed to and left France in due course. As for the four of them, they had a most enjoyable time, even if the original purpose of Randy and Chief's presence was no longer valid and they now traveled together. And if Randy had been tempted almost beyond endurance by that small gold encrusted swan at the Musee Baccarat, the one with the elegant card stating, "donated by the Comte DeLeroi", he took a deep breath and with great effort controlled his impulse as well as his twitching fingers. Chief had seen what he was looking at so intensely, read the card, knew that oh-so-familiar look in his eye and let out a rare laugh but refused to explain, just saying "later, when we get back to the hotel!"

It was then, over a drink, he told them of the mission that had preceded the accidental bombing of the Mansion by the American pilot, the one where they'd ended up at the Cottages for a goodly amount of time while repairs were being made. "We all screwed up in some way, sure, but Goniff? He brought a couple a guards down on us cause he just had to make a try for that very same piece of crystal you were droolin over this afternoon; it was the DeLeroi estate where we were doing the job. Just what the hell is it about swans, anyway???" And Randy couldn't really explain, but that cocked eyebrow, the one-sided wry grin accompanied by the hunched shrug, it was Goniff to a T, and they all roared. 

Late that night, curled together in that big bed, Lizzie kissed him on the shoulder, "I'm glad you all talked me into it now, the getting married, I mean. It seemed at the time like I'd be doing wrong if I chose one over the others," as she cuddled closer.

He just nuzzled her temple softly, adding a gentle kiss, "you didn't choose one of us over the other; you just let one of us stand in for all three of us, just in case it ever needed to be official. Same as when the General decided to make good on his con, make Craig his godson, adopted me for real, just in case it was ever needed. Guess it worked out pretty good, all around." 

She frowned into his throat, "yes, but . . ."

He drew back his dark head, wondering at her unusually serious tone, "but what, Lizzie?" And she told him, and he stilled, even his breath quieted. "And I don't know, well, I couldn't could I?"

And his chest expanded as he inhaled, and he laughed out loud with joy, "don't matter, Lizzie, what the last name shows, no more than it does with Randy or M'Coury. It'll be ours! You, me, Casino, Douglas, the Family! We're gonna have a kid!" 

And her laughter joined his, her apprehensions gone with his easy acceptance. "Yes, my dear, we are. Now, how are we going to spring this on them?? Douglas will just grin like a Cheshire Cat, but Casino?? Oh good heavens, Chief, he just might faint!"

"Don't know about that, but Goniff? He's gonna roar!"


End file.
